SEASON ELEVEN
by Aunt Kitty
Summary: If you think the end of season ten was the be-all end-all most wonderfulest gosh-a-roony arc...you just might want to skip this story. 8ish chapters, sort of complete, will post every day or two. My take on how they can fix the corner they've painted themselves into. (There may be a couple of crack!fic chapters added at the end.)
1. McGee: Writer's Block(ed Off)

"_Look what they done to my show, Ma,  
__Look what they done to my show.  
__The first five years they did half right  
__But now it's turning out all wrong, Ma,  
__Look what they done to my show."_

_(apologies to Melanie)_

Can you guess that I don't care a lick for the season finale or the train wreck that led up to it? I understand character evolution—but this is character _de_volution . They're going backwards; the people who swore to uphold the law are breaking it left, right, upside down and all the way to murder.

I don't see how they can come back from this travesty—but it's not _totally_ impossible… A little bit of _Dallas_, a smidgeon of _Newhart_ and a nod to _St. Elsewhere…_

**Summary:** Season 11 rescue plans.  
**Note:** Probably AU—darn it.  
**Betas and cheerleaders:** IMDb NCIS message board posters, for the unintended contributions  
**Genre:** Satire? Wishful thinking?  
**Pairing:** None  
**Rating/Warnings:** T (to be cautious)  
**Spoilers:** All over the place, mostly for the end of season 10 (which I have yet to see)  
**Time frame:** All over the place.  
**Disclaimer:** All NCIS characters are the property of Bellisarius Productions, Paramount, CBS and the appropriate copyright holders within those companies. Some characters in chapter 8 are the property of Joshua Brand, John Falsey, MTM Enterprises, NBC and the appropriate copyright holders within those companies. All other characters for this story (barring real persons mentioned in passing) are my original creation and property.

* * *

**SEASON ELEVEN: UN-JUMPING A SHARK**

* * *

**Chapter One  
****McGee: Writer's Block(ed Off)**

"_This is the last time we'll be in contact."  
_"_No… I will find you."_

McGee stared at Abby for a long time, waiting for a response. Finally, when he couldn't stand the suspense any longer: "Well?" He almost winced at how desperately hopeful he sounded.

"Well…" she hedged. She didn't want to hurt his feelings… but…!

He signed. "I don't know where to go."

Abby propped her chin on her cupped fists. "I know," she said sympathetically. "Talk about a rock and a hard place."

"Where did it start slipping? Maybe if I rewrite—" he said hopefully.

"To be honest… it started going downhill when you had the Director go on a blood vengeance head trip to get the arms dealer she _thought_ killed her father."

McGee bristled. "That far back? That's three books ago!"

"Well—it just got so convoluted, and then she died—" she said quickly.

He sighed again. "No—convoluted was that stupid port-to-port killer plotline."

Abby let out a breath. If _he_ was willing to call it convoluted (_and_ call it stupid!). "I _still_ don't understand it all and I read it three times!"

"The Mexican drug cartel, the mess in Israel, Lisa being held prisoner, blowing up the headquarters—" McGee was shaking his head.

"And now another revenge 'mission?'" Abby made quote marks in the air and Tim groaned. "Timmy… I hate to say it, but…" He gave her a wary look. "Maybe it's time to say goodbye," she said gently.

"I can't even focus on the other members," he said morosely. "They're all so… damaged."

"Not everyone," she said, pushing forth a perks smile. "Well… not totally," she said, remembering Dr. Ballard calling the FBI investigation "a witch hunt." Ducky would have had a fit. "Come on," she said encouragingly. "Think about Ducky's friend, Dr. Breannan. She has that great series about a forensic pathologist—" She bounced up and down on her chair. "Oh! You could do a series about Dr. Ballard!"

"Or Amy Sutton," he teased.

She grinned. "Sure!"

"But first…" He pulled the paper from the platen, put it with the sheaf of papers and shredded the offending outline. "I guess Tommy and Lisa need to be killed off."

"While you do that…" She headed toward the kitchen. "Chili? Fajitas?"

"Anything you make is fine," he called. Now that he knew what he had to do to fix everything—life was good. He listened to Abby knocking about the kitchen, singing something he didn't recognize, and smiled. Life was _very_ good.

* * *

_Twilight Zone, "A World of His Own" anyone?_


	2. Palmer: First Draft

**Chapter Two  
****Palmer: First Draft**

Ducky turned over the last page and was silent.

"Doctor?" Palmer prompted.

"Ah. Well…" Ducky coughed and sighed. "Jimmy…" he said gently.

Palmer's face fell. "That bad?"

"Erm…" Ducky hedged. "Complicated plots are quite alluring," he said carefully. "This might be more than you want to bite off for an introductory creative writing class."

Palmer slumped slightly in his chair. "I was afraid of that. It started off okay, but it kept getting more and more tangled… But I _have_ to take an English elective this semester!"

"It's not even two weeks into the class. You have time to switch without penalty," Ducky said soothingly. "Let's look at the schedule of classes… Oh, how about this: _Myth and Mythology as Used in the __Star Wars__ Universe_."

Jimmy gave him a doubtful look. "_Star_ _Wars_?"

"Oh, yes. George Lucas relied quite heavily on classic archetypes of mythology. Joseph Campbell—" He broke off with a grin. "I'd be happy to help you with the more classical elements of your homework—and I'm sure we could prevail upon both Agents McGee and DiNozzo to assist as well with regard to the science fiction hierarchy and cinema in general."

Jimmy looked at the story outline. It was already over 40 pages long, with words xxx'd out and scribbled over—and it was only a week and a half into the class. Would he be able to write all of it in one semester?

Probably not.

"_Star_ _Wars_, hunh?"

Ducky patted his shoulder. Jimmy's story was a dreadful mishmash of international arms dealers, undercover romance, betrayal, a couple of murders—and that was in the first five pages. As occasionally bad as McGee's novels sometimes became, they were nothing compared to this tale. By the end of the outline, he had turned his characters inside out to the point that they weren't—to be blunt—very likeable any more. "I think _Star Wars_ will be fine, just fine…"

* * *

_Twilight Zone again...?_


	3. DiNozzo: Cancelled

**Chapter Three  
****DiNozzo: Cancelled**

DiNozzo threw his hands in the air. "I give up."

Ziva looked up from her perch on the floor, amused. "Why?"

"Oh, come on. It's been sliding downhill for a couple of years, now."

Ziva would have put it closer to five, six, maybe even seven. "Yet you continue to watch."

"Well, yeah…" He pointed to the screen. "She is a smokin' hot babe. Fifteen or twenty on a scale of one-to-ten."

"Her teammates are not so bad either," she said with a sly smile.

"Him?" DiNozzo sneered, pointing to the tv. "He's turned into a _Twilight_ wannabe. All brooding and angst-driven," he explained at her baffled look. "And the other guy is such a whiner!"

"And _she_ has become absolutely psychic." She cocked her head. "Psychic? Psychotic?"

"Or even psychopathic. Can't argue that," he admitted.

"But I do agree…" She climbed up onto the couch, tucked her feet under to sit cross-legged, and reached for a slice of pizza. "The DVDs you showed me of the early years—the show was quite good—before. But the characters have all become so—" She struggled for the right words.

"Unethical? Immoral? Sleazy? Scummy?"

"Disappointing," she said sadly. "But—it is popular. They are renewed for another season."

"Nope. They're cancelled," he said grimly.

"Tony, they just showed a scene from the premier episode of _next season_," Ziva said with a laugh.

"It's cancelled—in _my_ house," he clarified.

"Ah." She gave him a bright smile. "This is a chance to catch up on your reading!"

He was busy clicking through the cable guide. "Hey! Sweet! Snoops and Sleuths channel is rerunning _Magnum_, _PI_ later on tonight!"

Ziva just shook her head and reached for her Guinness. Maybe if she got him to take a sucker bet and the penalty was reading a book a week… She glanced at him from the corner of her eye while he scrolled through the guide. Maybe one a _month_ was better.

* * *

_With thanks to posters on IMDb's NCIS Message Boards. You know who you are._


	4. Ziva: Deus ex Starchild

**Chapter Four**  
**Ziva: Deus ex Starchild**

Pain. Ohhhhhhh, pain.

Ziva grinned around her grimace, remembering Abby's comment hours ago in the ER: "You know what "DARE" stands for, right? Drugs Are Really Excellent!"

"Feeling better?"

She turned her head toward Gibbs' voice and the dip and sway of the room made her regret the movement. "Yes," she lied. He cocked his head and gave an, 'oh, really?' look. "Better… being a comparative statement," she said carefully. "Did we catch him?"

Gibbs hesitated and then shook his head. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out… of… this… bed," she managed to get out.

"Ziva, you have three busted ribs, a dislocated shoulder, cracked clavicle, a concussion—and a 45 slug through the thigh!"

Ah. That would explain the burning sensation in her leg.

"You are _not_ going anywhere."

"We have to—" She broke off as nausea from the concussion joined the group.

"_You_ have to stay in that bed." Gibbs stood over her, arms folded. "Do I gotta ask the psych department for restraints?"

"Gibbs—"

"Ziva…" He leaned on the bedrail. "You aren't Superwoman," he said, not unkindly. He managed a smile. "Hell, even Marines have been known to slow down when injured."

"But—"

"I know they push you in Mossad," he said, voice low. "Push you beyond human endurance. But—you are human. _Only_ _human._" He patted her hand cautiously; the morphine hadn't quite kicked in. "You show me someone who can run with busted ribs and toss someone off the roof with a dangling arm… and I'll show you a crappy _Law and Order_ knockoff."

She sighed, reluctantly seeing his logic. "Perhaps—we will catch him tomorrow."

He shook his head ruefully. She was hard to keep down. Would've made a good Marine. "Someone will."

* * *

_Deus ex Starchild refers to the old series "V." At the end of the miniseries, the alien/human hybrid "starchild" Elizabeth used mystical powers to prevent the mothership from blowing up. In the series, she morphed into a young adult (kids only being allowed to work x number of hours on the set), and every episode she picked up new extra-special skills—controlling animals, causing machinery to malfunction, tossing people around like rag dolls from a hundred feet away. She frequently saved the day with her powers, causing an adaptation of the phrase __**deus ex machina**__. Major complaints over the last seasons of NCIS has been 1) turning Ziva from the interesting, quirky Mossad agent in "Kill Ari" into a Barbie doll and 2) giving Ziva darn near superpowers. Need a bomb defused? On it. Trick shooting that looks like it's from the Annie Oakley Road Show? She's your gal. Got a binged-up shoulder? No problem, you can still heave someone twice your size (with more current training, no less) right over the railing. While this chapter doesn't erase what NCIS, sadly, has turned into, it does address the superhero aspect._


	5. Abby: Reindeer Games

**Chapter Five  
****Abby: Reindeer Games**

"Dinner smells sooooooo good, Ducky! Isn't it ready _yet_?" Abby pleaded.

"Sorry, my dear," he laughed. "Another hour. Time for at least another parlor game."

They had already made it through _Mad Libs, On My Trip Around the World _(Ducky flattened the competition),_ Fortunately/Unfortunately, Twenty Questions_ (Ziva and McGee tied)and _Charades _(surprisingly, Gibbs won). "I've run out!"

"Let's play _Sardines_!" Mrs. Mallard suggested, clapping her hands. Ducky quickly distracted her with a cheese puff.

"How about _Fortune Teller_?" DiNozzo suggested.

Abby cocked her head. She had put together the games list for the Christmas dinner and had never heard of it. "How do you play?"

"You write down the most unbelievable future for each person in the group, read them out loud, and people vote on who had the one that's the most impossible to believe. You know—like, McGee having sex." DiNozzo grinned.

Mrs. Mallard looked at him in mild shock. "You're a gigolo!" She gave him a "come hither" look. DiNozzo smiled warily and moved closer to McGee.

"I'll get notepads from my desk," Ducky said, covering the moment.

With Straight, No Chaser's version of _The Twelve Days of Christmas_ playing in the background, they scribbled for several minutes, the air occasionally broken by a snicker or giggle.

They decided on one winner per name, since the predictions were a little uneven. Ziva mildly misunderstood the instructions and predicted such things as McGee's novels being sold to the movies and Abby winning a Nobel award; Ducky gallantly suggested a special prize for such a wonderful vision for everyone.

Jenny won for suggesting DiNozzo had a near-death experience, resigned and became a Jesuit priest. ("Leading to the single-handed downfall of the Catholic church," McGee said.)

The winning scenario for Jenny was a Gibbs win. He saw Madam Director going off the rails, abusing her position to start a revenge mission that resulted in the agency almost being shut down. "I'll take that as a warning," she said drily.

Gibbs was less than thrilled with her future for him: not just tweaking the rules here and there, but blatantly ignoring flat-out murder committed by a friend or relative. "I'll take _that_ as a warning," he shot back.

McGee's future was another win for Jenny. In her prediction, he hacked "the system" in every way possible, deliberately crashed everything and sent the entire country into near-anarchy with a theocratic oligarchy coming to power and appointing McGee as the supreme techno-wizard. (Far from being offended, he looked intrigued—and was probably taking notes for another book.)

There was some dickering over Abby's future for Ziva. Like Gibbs' suggestion for Jenny Shepard, it involved Ziva going on a vengeance mission—this time, going essentially AWOL and gunning down someone she suspected of killing someone near and dear to her. When he saw a shadow cross over her face, Ducky quickly commented, "I don't see Ziva going back to how things were years ago," he euphemized. "If she were on a sanctioned mission to take down, oh, Osama Bin Ladin… that would be different. But going rogue?" He smiled across the table. "I can definitely see that as an impossible to believe scenario. The most impossible I've heard—and that says a lot, given some of the contributions!" It was hard to see who was more pleased—Abby, over the defense of her plot, or Ziva, over the defense of her character. Ducky called it a draw.


	6. Jenny: Part Three

**Chapter Six  
****Jenny: Part Three**

Jenny stared at the paperwork in front of her. "You're sure," she said quietly. It wasn't a question.

"Jen, you saw what they did!"

"Maybe just a vacation…? You need some time off after what you just went through. Being blown to kingdom come, in a coma—"

"I don't need a vacation. I don't need sick time. I need to be _gone._ Make it happen."

They were both silent for a long while, Jenny staring at Gibbs, Gibbs staring out the window on the opposite wall. But he hadn't been silent at the hospital.

Awake, he had stared at Jenny in confusion. "Who are you?" But his memory had been there, just under the surface, teasing him as he slept. The names were there…She sat by his bed as he slept, catching muttered words and phrases and piecing together a horrific crazy quilt nightmare.

"The Frog, Benoit, the Frog…" It took a while, but she finally figured out it was a codename for an arms dealer. Less pleasant was the discovery that she had thrown rules and regulations to the wind and chased after him in revenge—for what, she still wasn't clear. He mumbled a lot about Vance—other than Vance Hopkins in accounting, the only Vance she could think of was a Leon Vance, out in San Diego. It made sense—sort of—that "Vance isn't Vance" and he broke up Gibbs' team. Well, sense if she were no longer in the picture—he would be her likely successor. Gibbs' dreams weren't turning out very pleasantly for her.

And they got worse over the days. Murder, mayhem—a lot had to do with Ziva spiraling down a disastrous path that culminated in her hunting someone down and killing him in cold blood. Jenny knew Gibbs' daughter would have been in the same age range as Ziva and Abby, and she could see some paternal leanings in how he dealt with them. His thoughts were going down an ugly, dark track. Maybe, if he had time…

Sighing, she pulled a paper toward her and signed it. She could see him watching her from the corner of his eye, but he didn't say anything.

Good. It meant he hadn't caught _what_ paper she signed…


	7. Gibbs: A Trip to Texas

A/N: One more fairly sane chapter to go (of course, Ducky would get the last chapter :-D )... and then an unknown number of crack!fic chapters that appeared in the middle of the night...

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
****Gibbs: A Trip to Texas**

Gibbs' eyes snapped open. For a long time he stared at the ceiling, unseeing, trying to sort out dream and reality.

Jenny Shepard, back in DC, Director of NCIS—no, wait, that part was true. Right after Ari tried to kill Gibbs and his team, Morrow retired and Jenny stepped into his smelly loafers. Jen was director, had been for—hmm, two years, now.

Where the hell had he come up with those weird-ass dreams? Jenny, going after an arms dealer for killing her father? (Nice guy. Gibbs had met him a couple of times, years ago.) Ziva David, a Mossad agent, a member of his team going rogue and hunting down someone who had killed _her_ father? He wasn't a big believer in "messages"—but maybe this was his subconscious telling him to call Jackson. (That didn't explain the doubly bizarre segment of his former mother-in-law seducing a man and killing him. Maybe he should call her, too.)

Hearing the shower upstairs turn off, he pulled himself off the couch and shambled to the kitchen. He filled a kettle with water and slurped a cup of coffee while the kettle clanked and squeaked as it heated. He didn't look up when he heard steps in the doorway. "Put water on for your tea."

"Oh! Thanks, Gibbs." Kate pulled a mug from the shelf and a teabag from the box. "Thanks again for letting me stay while they fumigate my apartment building. Bugs—ugh." She shuddered expressively.

He shrugged. "No problem. You're quieter than DiNozzo."

She grinned and pulled the kettle from the stove. "And I make much better tuna casserole."

"Never had his tuna casserole," he said with a half-grin.

"Actually—it would probably be pretty good. He buys a decent grade of frozen food. But from scratch…"

"Hey," he interrupted. "You remember Ziva David?"

She thought for a moment. "Of course. She was the Mossad agent who collected Ari Haswari's body. Why?"

He waved a hand. "Nothing. Just had a really weird dream. She was in it."

Kate grinned and reached for the sugar bowl. "Gibbs. She is _way_ too young for you!"

He finished his coffee and clunked his mug into the sink. "Wasn't _that_ kind of a dream, Kate," he said with a smirk, heading out of the kitchen.

* * *

_This was for those people who wish Kate had never died and Ziva had never joined the team. A nod to Dallas - - or Newhart, whichever you prefer._


	8. Ducky: Snowfall

**Chapter Eight  
****Ducky: Snowfall**

"Ducky! You joining us? Even Gibbs and Director Shepard will be there!"

Ducky shook his head. But he was still smiling. "Not this Saturday, dear. I've promised my babysitting skills."

She nodded wisely. "Don and Mo?"

"It's their anniversary. Tommy is comfortable with me, so…" He shrugged slightly.

"What time?"

"I requested a personal day, so Dr. Cortlandt is on call—just in case. I was going to spend the afternoon, so it's less of a surprise when Donald and Maureen leave."

"You want some company?"

"I couldn't ask you to give up—"

"You're not asking. I'm volunteering. I'll bring spa-ghe-tti," she sing-songed.

Tommy knew Abby from a number of Family Day Picnics over the years—and loved her spaghetti almost as much as he loved her tattoo. "I'll make the garlic bread."

/ / / / /

"Happy anniversary, Donald, Maureen…" Ducky handed over the bottle of champagne.

"On, Ducky, you shouldn't have!" Nonetheless Maureen accepted the magnum with a kiss to his cheek. "This will be a lovely treat tonight."

"Or you could keep it for next month," Ducky said with a smile.

Maureen exchanged a glance with her husband. "Next month?" they questioned in chorus.

"Open the envelope." He glanced toward the pale gold envelope dangling by a ribbon.

Maureen untied the envelope and slipped out the card, almost dropping the tickets and gift card. Only years of repressing sharp noises around her son kept her squeal of joy down to a tiny, "Eep!"

"The Mikado?" Donald read. He smiled; he and his wife were Gilbert and Sullivan fanatics. "And dinner at C'est Bonne! Don, Mo is right—you shouldn't have." His smile burst into a grin. "But we won't be so churlish as to refuse."

They played a few hands of canasta until Abby arrived, then made it a rubber of bridge. Maureen in particular had been thrilled that Abby was going to be there—for one thing, she still felt she was imposing on their friendship when she asked Ducky to sit with Tommy; with Abby along, it was more like friends hanging out. Second, Tommy was fascinated by Abby. Well—Abby's spider web tattoo. He was spellbound by patterns: static or wavy lines on the television, the interlocking pattern on the kitchen linoleum, the lines of a telephone book, the falling snow and sparkles in water globes—or the connecting lines in Abby's tattoo.

/-/-/

The first Family Day Picnic Ducky had brought the Westphalls along, Tommy had caught sight of Abby and refused to leave her side. He was normally relatively obedient—it might take three, four or five repetitions, but he would eventually do what was asked. Occasionally it wouldn't connect in his world, and a meltdown would ensue. He couldn't stand to be around a high-pitched noise—even another child shrieking in glee would have him flinching, running away or hiding—but when he 'pitched a fit' as some unknowing people called it, he was the source of the high, keening wail. No—not a wail, more like the whistle of a time clock: a steady, loud, high-pitched noise, no inflection, just on and off. Unfortunately, the pitch was unbearably high and the length of time unbearably long.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Abby quickly said when Tommy had a major meltdown when forcibly removed from beside her chair. In all honesty, having him stare at her for almost three hours had been unnerving, even with the knowledge that he was completely nonverbal autistic. But being unnerved was a minor inconvenience and it quickly disappeared in the face of his distress. "It's okay with me if it's okay with you." Don and Maureen looked at each other uncertainly. "How long are you planning to stay?"

"The fireworks are at eight—he loves fireworks, just not the screeching ones, so we give him headphones just in case, but we'll leave right after that—"

"Okay. Tommy?" Abby got down on the grass and knelt in front of the little boy. He was four that first year. "It's okay with me if you look at my spider web all day," she said, her voice low and calming. "If your mom or dad or Uncle Ducky want you to do something, you go do it, and you can come right back here and sit with me again. Then later we can watch the fireworks and we'll all go to our own homes. Okay?"

He stopped his howl and stared at her. She repeated everything she had said. He stood, took her hand and led her back to her chair—where he stood next to her, staring at her spider web, lost in his own world. Later that week, when an agent made an unkind remark in her hearing, she told him that was her adopted nephew and it would be best if he sent his evidence down to her lab with someone else in the foreseeable future.

Family…

/-/-/

"That was the best sauce you've ever made," Ducky said while he and Abby rinsed the dinner dishes.

"Tommy agrees," she laughed. "He had _thirds_."

"A young man of taste and perception."

She leaned around him to look at Tommy, sitting at the dining room table. His arms were folded, his chin resting on the top arm, staring at the snow and glitter that swirled in the water of his newest snow globe.

"What did you get him this time?" Abby asked quietly.

"He has one of Anacostia Park, the White House, several ships—this is a Marine in dress uniform standing lone duty. Looks remarkably like Gibbs. He keeps all the Naval and Marine—or anything you might link to NCIS—on their own shelf, like a little village."

Abby finished loading the dishwasher and turned it on. It sloshed quietly in the background while she and Ducky watched Tommy from afar.

"I wish I knew what he's thinking," she whispered.

"Maureen's refrain," he murmured. "He stares at his globes for hours… who knows what worlds he has created?"

_**The snow is falling, falling…  
**_"_You just let your own personal obsession get in the way of your personal responsibility."  
__**The snow is falling down…  
**_"_I'm not sure we can work together. Perhaps it is best if one of us gets transferred to another team."  
_**_Into the night's sky…  
_**"_It's never easy to turn someone. To change them. A federal agent in DC? You have value. I don't want your death. I want your life."  
__**Into the crimson dawn…  
**_"_I know you threw Bodnar off that ship, and I know that you killed your own brother Ari. Yet there has been no punishment for either. Like Gibbs you just forget and move on. Until now. It's only a matter of time."  
__**The snow is falling down…**__  
_

Abby shrugged and reached into the freezer for Tommy's favorite ice cream, butter pecan. "We'll probably never know."

* * *

_If you're puzzled, Google Tommy Westphall. They didn't use the ending to salvage the show-merely to end it in an offbeat way._

_The song from Tommy's universe is an adaptation of the round song "The Stars Are Falling" by Karen Willson_


End file.
